New Poems by Christina Rossetti: Hitherto Unpublished Or Uncollected
Published two years after her death and edited by her brother William, €New Poems€is a collection of Christina Rossetti's verses that were unpublished during her lifetime. Some of these poems were written to bout-rimes, a game played among poets where one lists a group of rhyming pairs and the other must construct a poem using each word.
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amor Angels ASH WEDNESDAY autumn beneath birds Birds of Paradise blessed bloom blossoms BOUTS-RIMES breast breath cease Christ Christina CHRISTINA ROSSETTI CHRISTMAS CAROL Circa cold COUSIN KATE crown dear death doth dream earth eternal evermore eyes face fair fear fior flowers Folkestone forget glory golden gone grief hand happy hath hear heart heartsease heaven hope hope and fear lady light lilies live look Lord Love's meadowsweet moon Mother nest never night NINNA-NANNA o'er once pain pale Paradise peace pluck poem pray quatrain rest RESURRECTION EVE rose ROSSEGGIAR ROSSETTI Saints shadows shalt shine silent sing sister sleep Sleeping at last smile song sonnet sorrow soul Spring star sweet tears tender thee thine Thou art tree unto Valentine verses VOLGO watch waters of Babylon weary weep wind wings
Page 230 - The Wise Men had a star, But what have I, a little child, To guide me home from far, Where glad stars sing together And singing angels are? — Lord Jesus is my Guardian, So I can nothing lack: The lambs lie in His bosom Along life's dangerous track: The wilful lambs that go astray He bleeding fetches back.
Page 129 - Oh who but Maude, my sister Maude, Who lurked to spy and peer. Cold he lies, as cold as stone, With his clotted curls about his face: The comeliest corpse in all the world And worthy of a queen's embrace. You might have spared his soul, sister, Have spared my soul, your own soul too: Though I had not been born at all, He'd never have looked at you. My father may sleep in Paradise, My mother at Heaven-gate: But sister Maude shall get no sleep Either early or late.
Page 234 - To give, to give, not to receive, I long to pour myself, my soul, Not to keep back or count or leave But king with king to give the whole: I long for one to stir my deep I have had enough of help and gift I long for one to search and sift Myself, to take myself and keep. You scratch my surface with your pin; You stroke me smooth with hushing breath; • Nay pierce, nay probe, nay dig within, Probe my quick core and sound my depth. You call me with a puny call, You talk, you smile, you nothing do;...
Page 150 - My blindest buzzard that I know, My special mole, when will you see? Oh no, you must not look at me, There's nothing hid for me to show. I might show facts as plain as day: But, since your eyes are blind, you'd say, 'Where? What?
Page 184 - Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over, Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past, Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover, Sleeping at last No more a tired heart downcast or overcast, No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover. Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep locked fast. Fast asleep. Singing birds in their leafy cover Cannot wake her, nor shake her the gusty blast. Under the purple thyme and the purple clover Sleeping at last.
Page 233 - with such a craving heart? I have not found it since my birth, But still have bartered part for part. I have not held and hugged the whole, But paid the old to gain the new : Much have I paid, yet much is due, Till I am beggared sense and soul.
Page 244 - In Jerusalem, Young and old lay fast asleep In crowded Bethlehem: Saint and Angel, ox and ass, Kept a watch together Before the Christmas daybreak In the winter weather. Jesus on His Mother's breast In the stable cold, Spotless Lamb of God was He, Shepherd of the fold: Let us kneel with Mary Maid, With Joseph bent and hoary, With Saint and Angel, ox and ass, To hail the King of Glory.
Page 244 - BEFORE the paling of the stars, Before the winter morn, Before the earliest cock-crow Jesus Christ was born : Born in a stable Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands had made Born a stranger. Priest and King lay fast asleep In Jerusalem, Young and old lay fast asleep In crowded Bethlehem : Saint and Angel, ox and abs, Kept a watch together, Before the Christmas daybreak In the winter weather.
Page 11 - While some, proud even in death, hope gone, Steadfast and still, stood looking on. 'Death — death — oh! let us fly from death; Where'er we go it followeth; All these are dead; and we alone Remain to weep for what is gone. What is this thing? thus hurriedly To pass into eternity; To leave the earth so full of mirth; To lose the profit of our birth; 200 To die and be no more; to cease, Having numbness that is not peace.